tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69043567057351200702019-05-14T20:10:09.591-04:00Carolynn with 2NsCarolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-85087354106500090342019-03-21T09:48:00.000-04:002019-03-21T09:48:32.120-04:00Planted without a sell-by date <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yrGJuElTdlU/XJOVCqLKK6I/AAAAAAAACfE/Mm5K1KsEdjAQ82xI8QERXpBKqsLo0PxNwCLcBGAs/s1600/avenueoftrees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="560" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yrGJuElTdlU/XJOVCqLKK6I/AAAAAAAACfE/Mm5K1KsEdjAQ82xI8QERXpBKqsLo0PxNwCLcBGAs/s320/avenueoftrees.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></div>Recently I faced a life and death situation that had me reeling. I went from mundane-everyday-WTF to I’m going to die in 5 minutes. Pretty damn scary, pretty damn life changing. Rather than go into the specifics let me just say that when something like that happens, you change how you view your existence, your purpose, and how tenuous your eye-blink of time is here on this great earth. This is serious stuff. It’s severe. It’s cataclysmic. <o:p></o:p><br /> <br />That the door unexpectantly opened for me to pass through and then was slammed shut has left me contemplating experience and effort. “Experience,” as in my belief that I have been blessed with a wonderful life of family and abiding love. “Effort,” as in, is the determination I spend on dreaming and achieving writing success, worth the bits and pieces and huge chunks of the time it will take to get there? And if my answer is no, what do I do instead.<o:p></o:p><br /> <br />It’s like something I remember reading years ago in (I think) Chesapeake by Michener. An epic for sure. <o:p></o:p><br /> <br />The one thing that has glued itself to mind from that book is about trees. It’s about the men as visionaries and dreamers, who put forth the grand effort to plant trees which they knew they’d never live long enough to see as full grown. They would never get to sit in the shade under the lush canopies, never get to shelter under them in a storm, and never get to see how spectacular they’d look while lining the broad roads leading to the mansions by the sea. If I remember correctly I believe the full grown trees were eventually taken down by a fierce storm. But that doesn’t matter because it is the planting of them that was so important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p><br /> <br />For a few days after my own personal hurricane I stared at the full manuscript of my WIP, printed and ready to send to an editor who likes to work with paper pages, not on screens. I had already bought the envelope in which to send it, already addressed it and then thought about how futile the continued effort to find a traditional publisher for that book is. Or should I say, might be. It’s the fourth book I have finished, the others are shelf novels. Should I set it aside? And then what do I do, take up knitting or shuffle board?<o:p></o:p><br /> <br />I mailed it.<o:p></o:p><br /> <br />It’s planted. <o:p></o:p><br /> <br />Though I am aware that I may never see its branches lush with leaves, (but then again I might), I know that I have at least continued forward, one foot in front of the other, a day at a time. Even though I don’t know how many days, or if any, will stack up behind me, writing that book has brought me immeasurable joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I am not ready to give up on joy just yet.<o:p></o:p><br /> <br />I’m still in the stages of making sense of what happened and vacillating between I may live to a hundred or drop dead a minute from now. None of us, and let me repeat, NONE OF US has a sell-by date. Trees don't either.<br /> <br />I’ve been given a second chance and I’m taking advantage of it. <o:p></o:p><br /> <br />Wouldn’t you?<o:p></o:p><br /> Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-81768255499147467162019-01-04T09:33:00.000-05:002019-01-04T09:33:53.528-05:00Your future? Discounted.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KNm1La5v_KI/XC9qOGkJZiI/AAAAAAAACeY/_2xwtfai7j4CqmBm7vavy7lFNPrf3w_aACLcBGAs/s1600/senior%2Bcard.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="191" data-original-width="264" height="144" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KNm1La5v_KI/XC9qOGkJZiI/AAAAAAAACeY/_2xwtfai7j4CqmBm7vavy7lFNPrf3w_aACLcBGAs/s200/senior%2Bcard.png" width="200" /></a></div>Finally an&nbsp;update on this New Year. Not sure why I have been so absent because time has become my friend again. Maybe it’s because my conversation here is read by so few. (My fault.) Maybe it’s because what I want to say doesn’t seem so important regarding our brave new world as it was, as it is, and as it may be. <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />Well anyway, my novel is complete and has been off to first-readers for quite some time. I have learned that the holidays are a lousy time to expect reader-feedback. Hopefully off to an editor soon. (Hello Jennine.)<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I am on to another project that lit a fire which has been smoldering for a long time. I have hesitated on this one because the scope is imposing and counter to every other project I have attempted and completed. But I love the genre and read it all the time. Don’t have a log line yet, and the outline looks like the sparse road map in and out of Death Valley. But, I’m 10-grand in and hoping to hit completion before Christ is resurrected (again). <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Within this new story the what-if questions are enormous. Let’s just say, (and I probably shouldn’t at this point but I will anyway), I’m combining an imagined J.K. Rowling kind intricately detailed world with a Suzanne Collins Katniss-like senior character. Dare I say it’s a dystopian novel for senior citizens? <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I hate the term “senior citizen,” but if you are one this story will scare granny pants off you. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In our daily cycle of news which is proving by the hour how easily millions can be swayed by falsehoods and shallow promises, “70Y70D” will be your road map to heaven or hell depending on which side of the 10% senior discount you are on.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So there you have it. A futuristic novel for readers with futures far shorter than their pasts.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Happy New Year everyone. Hope all is well, for all of you, and if it’s not, write about it.<o:p></o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-2598850281121554142018-10-17T08:59:00.000-04:002018-10-17T09:01:19.201-04:00Ginger Ale in a green bottle<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I am nine years old, sitting in the backseat of dad’s Studebaker <o:p></o:p></div><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J-2uj6D59-I/W8cw9_Ar_dI/AAAAAAAACd8/5FjdpMH__OEz57dWz8JUBk5QKdllpEnZQCLcBGAs/s1600/s-l300.jpg%2Bginger%2Bale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="151" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J-2uj6D59-I/W8cw9_Ar_dI/AAAAAAAACd8/5FjdpMH__OEz57dWz8JUBk5QKdllpEnZQCLcBGAs/s200/s-l300.jpg%2Bginger%2Bale.jpg" width="100" /></a>Station wagon. We are on our way from Elizabeth, New Jersey to Nana and Pop-Pop’s house in Norwich, Connecticut. The drive seams endless (interstate highways are not yet complete). After half a day on the road we pay a 10 cent toll over the Connecticut River, and the anticipation of being nearer Nana’s, far outweighs the hackneyed “are we there yet” my mom and dad became deaf to 15 minutes after we left. <br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Being almost there has my brother and me sitting straight, not slumped in our respective corners. Being almost there has him hanging over the back seat blabbering into my father’s ear, and me drumming my hands on my thighs until my mother says playing percussion is not for girls. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>The anticipation of visiting my grandparents, my aunts and uncles and cousins begins to effervesce like a green bottle of all-shook-up ginger ale on a summer day. Almost there and the cap is ready to blow, almost there and I can taste the Saturday night beans and hot dogs. Sitting on the front porch after dinner with the family, (there are dozens of us), waiting for the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Good Humor</i>truck to stop, is the exclamation point to a perfect day.<o:p></o:p></div><br />I am not nine years old anymore but that bubbly feeling of being almost there feeds my (on a keyboard) drumming hands. Today, years of thought and planning and writing and months of self-editing - done. I will complete a last read-through and later today my novel is off to a first reader (many states away) that is tough, kind and beyond brilliant when it comes to books people want to read, can’t wait to read, and spend money to read. <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">She wants a hard copy so on my way home from the post office I will buy ginger ale in a green bottle.<o:p></o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-65445514384248456142018-09-13T11:14:00.000-04:002018-09-13T11:14:01.308-04:00balls...Balls...BALLS <br /> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QpYhlEjWS0E/W5p7M0sYl6I/AAAAAAAACdU/kFAnxkuygqEBI6VZUy_9JPkNT33MBqzIQCLcBGAs/s1600/golfballs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="212" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QpYhlEjWS0E/W5p7M0sYl6I/AAAAAAAACdU/kFAnxkuygqEBI6VZUy_9JPkNT33MBqzIQCLcBGAs/s320/golfballs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">omg…OMG…OH MY GOD !<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I’m tooling along finishing my WIP, with only a few thousand words left to go, and in the back of my mind the reason why two characters pretty much can’t stand each other eluded me.&nbsp;That there was an issue&nbsp;kept bumping into my thoughts like a golf ball rolling around in a bowl.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">why…Why…WHY? <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Then, a few days ago I’m writing a sentence and<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">boom…Boom…BOOM !!!<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">There it was spilling out onto the page like water down a slide into the deep end. It's a stunner.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Wow…Wow…WOW !!!<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Okay so enough of the three word fancy reactives.)<o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Anyway:<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The result is that I have had to go back and plant seeds (hints) that are restrained enough, so as not to be obvious, until the reader discovers the surprise. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">This throws a bag of shiny new Titleists into the bowl&nbsp;because now I have to make sure I keep the readers engaged enough to get to the heart breaking and mind blowing surprise. Wait a minute I was supposed to be doing&nbsp;that already wasn't I.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(And I thought I was almost done).<o:p></o:p></i></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Oh well.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Ain’t writing...fun…Fun…FUN?<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sorry couldn’t resist just one more.<o:p></o:p></i></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-49672466623395588172018-09-01T09:30:00.000-04:002018-09-01T19:37:12.029-04:00I'm not a leaner...yet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VCTu3g_vo4I/W4qRjlEzNAI/AAAAAAAACc0/VoI0YM9oUygCJMajz0jlZN28RmXJeVELgCLcBGAs/s1600/grumpy-old-woman-shopping-cart-cartoon-character-wearing-sunglasses-pink-dress-pushing-54284529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1233" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VCTu3g_vo4I/W4qRjlEzNAI/AAAAAAAACc0/VoI0YM9oUygCJMajz0jlZN28RmXJeVELgCLcBGAs/s200/grumpy-old-woman-shopping-cart-cartoon-character-wearing-sunglasses-pink-dress-pushing-54284529.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span id="goog_509041784"></span><span id="goog_509041785"></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">So…what is retirement really like?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> And, have I retired from everything?<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"> It’s awesome and no I have not.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">In the middle of the day I see them in the super market, gray hair, or no hair, pushing a carriage with a grandchild in the seat. Or maybe there is no child and dinner and a snack in the seat portends of the rest of the day’s repast.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">When I see a shopper bent over and leaning on the cart for support I wonder, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do they really need the cart to hold them up and help them on their way, or have they always shopped that way. And, why do I analyze how they shop the way they do? Is my life so boring? Am I hyper-critical because I see myself that way years from now, months, next week or tomorrow?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I am not a leaner. I straighten up, walk tall and fast because I do not consider myself one of them yet. Yes, I may shop in the middle of the day, and yes, there is often a grandchild in the seat, and sometimes a second one walking along side me, or perched on the front of the cart like a hood ornament. Yup, I am one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">When we eloped, almost forty years ago, I loved being considered a member of the married club. Once we had children I relished being a card (and baby) carrying parent club member. Defined as, parent of a “toddler”, “teenager”, “college student”, and eventually “mother of the bride”, enrolled me in all the other clubs I’ve struggled through and thoroughly loved. The most recent, and cherished beyond words and feelings, is being a grandparent. It is much more than other grandparents have described to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Until our first grandbaby was born I only saw the generational gap, from the other side as a grandchild. My Nanas’ let me have ice cream when my mom said “no.” They told me I was beautiful even though I knew I was awkward and chubby. They told me I was smart when I felt stupid and didn’t have a clue what I was smart at. <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">My grandparents, (grandmothers in particular), filled in all the gaps my parents left open because mom and dad both worked and I was not an only child. It wasn’t until I became an adult, and my grandparents were gone, that I realized the importance of that generation’s existence in my life and how it influenced the person I have become today. <o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">I am them. <o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">The roll they played is now my roll.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Like them (for now anyway) I do not use anything to hold myself up. I’m a straight walker, straight talker and dish out platters of life lessons for the little ones to&nbsp;consume&nbsp;or discard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Along with the time I am now blessed to have with them, to sometimes do nothing but sit and eat ice cream, I tell them how beautiful, handsome and smart they are. “Yes”, to another little toy, another cupcake, another movie and another handful of popcorn, even though mom and dad say “nope”, you’ve had enough. As best I can, I am filling in the gaps with more than just enough.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">And what does this have to do with writing? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Nothing and everything.<o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Evelyn Wilkerson never had children, and yet, as a gray haired mid-sixties relic of the good life unexpectedly tossed onto the bottom rung, she fills in the gaps.</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"> <span style="font-family: &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">They say to write what you know about. I am not a leaner and neither is Evelyn.</span></span></span></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-86950970352628646902018-07-29T08:55:00.000-04:002018-07-29T08:55:34.966-04:00<div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bvv_YBya_aA/W1230ivn7iI/AAAAAAAACcE/k56MLlULW0gMr7VwPRFX7Z4VvFgcPam2wCEwYBhgL/s1600/100339282.jpg%2Borange%2Bflower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bvv_YBya_aA/W1230ivn7iI/AAAAAAAACcE/k56MLlULW0gMr7VwPRFX7Z4VvFgcPam2wCEwYBhgL/s200/100339282.jpg%2Borange%2Bflower.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bvv_YBya_aA/W1230ivn7iI/AAAAAAAACcE/k56MLlULW0gMr7VwPRFX7Z4VvFgcPam2wCEwYBhgL/s1600/100339282.jpg%2Borange%2Bflower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bvv_YBya_aA/W1230ivn7iI/AAAAAAAACcE/k56MLlULW0gMr7VwPRFX7Z4VvFgcPam2wCEwYBhgL/s1600/100339282.jpg%2Borange%2Bflower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">&nbsp;</a><br />About a month or so from now, summer will begin to wane. The myriad of garden colors will be replaced by fading green and then the ground will be crunchy brown with the leftovers. Not seeking to wish away time I look forward to fall because it is my season. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><o:p></o:p>&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Had an awesome vacation with family and away from words. The breather stoked bonds and mental acuity. Memories fill my heart. News is depressing and it has been god-awful hot but windows are open today. Air conditioners resting until tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;">&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;">This first free of time-clock summer is a god-send. The writing life is a dream come true. I am blessed and grateful. And best of all I am making real progress and have not given up on the belief that regardless of that which may prejudice an agent or publishers mind (age), it’s all about the story.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;">&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;">The title, STANDING IN FRONT OF SEPTEMBER&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><o:p></o:p></div></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-64704712307291436252018-06-27T12:02:00.000-04:002018-06-27T12:02:14.474-04:00Pen-update, rejection section Pen-update. <o:p></o:p><br /> I queried two papers for another column. Sent&nbsp;articles along with the queries. Haven’t heard back. I'm thinking no response means no. And that’s okay.<o:p></o:p><br /> Submitted to a magazine a rather long piece about a life event which changed our family in amazing ways, forever. Got a rejection on that one fairly quickly because the piece is time sensitive (September) and lead-time is running out. <br /><o:p></o:p><br /> <a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PRL_uaYyueM/WzOyGQDo0GI/AAAAAAAACbg/W7t-tjU0aFsKs6acnqc3re7jF_paaK0fACEwYBhgL/s1600/erin%2Bposter.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="185" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PRL_uaYyueM/WzOyGQDo0GI/AAAAAAAACbg/W7t-tjU0aFsKs6acnqc3re7jF_paaK0fACEwYBhgL/s200/erin%2Bposter.png" width="135" /></a>Pitch points on that one:<br /> I had less than five bucks in my wallet and a million and a half dollars in my hand. <o:p></o:p><br /> <a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_wxWf_xn9K4/WzOyLvSLTTI/AAAAAAAACbk/xrVe7EtxKq4-JC_bmZ3YjPPujYSqE2KiQCEwYBhgL/s1600/it%2Bcould%2Bhappen%2Bto%2Byou.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="182" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_wxWf_xn9K4/WzOyLvSLTTI/AAAAAAAACbk/xrVe7EtxKq4-JC_bmZ3YjPPujYSqE2KiQCEwYBhgL/s200/it%2Bcould%2Bhappen%2Bto%2Byou.png" width="135" /></a>It was like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Erin Brockovich</i> meets <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It Could Happen To You</i>. <o:p></o:p><br /> <br />Am pushing forward to other publications and no it wasn’t an insurance settlement and no we did not win the lottery.<o:p></o:p><br /> <br /> Right now I am editing my book. Yup, went back with the joy of time, and utter endearment for a cast of characters I adore. <o:p></o:p><br /> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So that’s it. That’s my short (as a short-straw) update because I have editing to do.<o:p></o:p></div>Lovin’ life. <o:p></o:p><br /> Have a great summer boys and girls. <o:p></o:p><br /> Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-9028033899784637992018-05-09T11:15:00.005-04:002018-05-09T11:15:53.141-04:00Pen on pause <a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xARL2KSU77k/WvMOmosnReI/AAAAAAAACag/pv4rGQ63OUEgfgRZLZ8TWIOKlgIrUMZxwCLcBGAs/s1600/pen%2Bon%2Bpause.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xARL2KSU77k/WvMOmosnReI/AAAAAAAACag/pv4rGQ63OUEgfgRZLZ8TWIOKlgIrUMZxwCLcBGAs/s1600/pen%2Bon%2Bpause.png" /></a><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Wow!<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When life changes drastically, in a good way. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When routine becomes memory and tasks change from have to, to want to, the everyday takes on new meaning.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">That’s life now. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Retired from my all-over-the-clock 9 to 5 (which never was a 9 to 5) but a nights, weekends, and holidays ‘must,’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I could cry because I am so grateful to have a normal life back. Um, I have cried with the relief of it all. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The only downside, oh wait, there is no downside. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">On a personal note, the past two months have been filled with family. I won’t go into the particulars but I have been able to spend time with a soon-to-be two year old and an&nbsp;nine month old, which has filled my heart in ways I not thought possible. Babies put everything in perspective.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">But what about writing. What about the dream?<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Still there and back in earnest next week. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When my daughters were little I never (not once) regretted the business I closed and management career I put on hold for eight years. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">And now? <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Not one second am I regretting my pen on pause.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">BUT<o:p></o:p></div>Get ready boys and girls. Next week. I'm lookin' for ink. <o:p></o:p><br /> Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-31022048086845777422018-03-21T09:17:00.000-04:002018-03-23T12:32:37.942-04:00It's all about balance<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eDGr6kne1is/WrJa_EU2bvI/AAAAAAAACaE/LRcFPxAXh3INyVmDjdPCEM5ycPEO8o86QCLcBGAs/s1600/snow%2Bflower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eDGr6kne1is/WrJa_EU2bvI/AAAAAAAACaE/LRcFPxAXh3INyVmDjdPCEM5ycPEO8o86QCLcBGAs/s200/snow%2Bflower.JPG" width="200" /></a>update<br />Update<br />UPDATE<br /><br />That previous post, that I'd be finished and querying by Easter, (and said I'd never make it), I met the deadline.<br />Book done and querying. But ah ha, it's a different book.<br /><br />My only regret, I have none. How could I. <br />Because of life-circumstances I am able to write full-time. What a joy. What a f-en joy.<br />I am learning to balance&nbsp;my new&nbsp;everyday with the privildge of time for word-devotion. "Word Devotion" sounds like a religion. Ha, maybe it is. <br /><br />I am grateful, thankful, and hopeful. <br />The worrier in me has me waiting for the proverbial shoe to fall. It is my nature to think that good has to be balanced with bad, pleasure with pain, love with hate, and joy with sadness.<br />'Write' now life is good -&nbsp;very, very good. <br />What's next?<br />Springtime!<br />Um, it's snowing. Fourth nor'easter at our doorstep. Ya know that balance thing I just wrote&nbsp;about?<br />I told you so.Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-40926719925249310912018-01-26T08:20:00.000-05:002018-01-26T08:20:17.092-05:00Climb Every Mountain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IwdKs2RzwqQ/WmsqaNfBPrI/AAAAAAAACZk/h5VDGJ81BUE0f7egA3ExAIM0t2SkOCynQCLcBGAs/s1600/images.jpg%2Bvalley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="308" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IwdKs2RzwqQ/WmsqaNfBPrI/AAAAAAAACZk/h5VDGJ81BUE0f7egA3ExAIM0t2SkOCynQCLcBGAs/s1600/images.jpg%2Bvalley.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I am standing on a mountain, well not actually a mountain, more like an out cropping on the edge of one. Above me, slippery rocks, with barely a path. No predetermined route, only the belief that there is one. Often there is fog which confuses me and blocks my forward motion. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Below me a spectacular valley, lush with life and words. Yes words. Terraced fields of them ripe for picking. Words hang from trees like tart macs, sweet bartletts, and lemons so sour they pucker thought. And elsewhere, there are words as drops, forgotten on the forest floor, soft and rotten to their core. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Like a part on the well tressed surface of a globe, there’s a river, dividing the valley. Ambling and wide at one end, narrow and white-water rushing at the other. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">On the surface of the river boats are filled to overflowing with words, some of which have toppled into the water and float. They sun and soak in the pleasure of their momentary cruise. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In the narrows, the words travel fast, so fast in fact that once seen, if they are not quickly plucked from the foam and left to dry, they are as forgotten as autumn leaves turned crispy at the bottom of evaporated puddles baking in the sun.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">And here I am, teetering on the edge of a crag, searching for just the right batch to fill my basket. And I will fill it, so full in fact, that once I reach the peak I will toss the overused and unnecessary to the fierce alpine winds. The unused will finally settle on the gentle breezes below to once again, feed the soil.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Time to climb.<o:p></o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-61313890827828254062018-01-17T08:29:00.000-05:002018-01-17T08:29:09.873-05:00Easter, the real DEADLINE <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vNj6rqXIxcg/Wl9LdXE1xLI/AAAAAAAACZM/JWeaSJGv74QjXjXbRazAtp2mWL4kgjqMgCLcBGAs/s1600/deadline-red-720x380.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="720" height="168" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vNj6rqXIxcg/Wl9LdXE1xLI/AAAAAAAACZM/JWeaSJGv74QjXjXbRazAtp2mWL4kgjqMgCLcBGAs/s320/deadline-red-720x380.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">On a well known agent’s blog recently, I promised a group of online writer-friends that I would finish my on again, off again novel (which has&nbsp;a great premise) and have it ready for querying by Easter this year. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Will I live up to my promise?<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Hell no!<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Am I disappointed, am I a slacker, do I feel like a failure?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p></o:p>&nbsp;</div>Absolutely not.<br /><o:p></o:p><br /> I’ve been working on that ball and chain, and fitting in my&nbsp;promise to finish it as best I can, and I am not enjoying a minute of it. Recently I figured out how to handle a huge stumbling block regarding background and truly got excited about sailing through to the next port. And then…waves, undertow, sand in my grannies, I wasn’t loving it. No joy, no pleasure, it felt like a huge anchor weight and waste of time.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p></o:p><br /> It’s shelved.<o:p></o:p><br /> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Confession time.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I have always believed that in order to be a successful writer, I mean a really successful writer, traditionally publishing novels is the best path between the lines to the end of the pool and a place on the winner’s stand. Because &nbsp;I meander my words by drifting, I’ll never be a novelist. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Nope never. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Don’t wanna be. It’s not in me and boys and girls that’s okay.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I remember reading an article many, many years ago written by the great Mr. King. To paraphrase, he said…write what you are best at writing. He added that he wanted to write the great American novel but knew that horror writing was what he did best. Duh, ya think! So that’s what he did. </div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I am an essay writer. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I am a writer of columns and articles. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Yes, I am a storyteller but the stories I write are about me. They are about my family and the collective family I call all of us.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I have been published hundreds of times in newspapers and magazines. My life has literally been an open book, written as validation that we all share the same angst, anger, love, compassion and confusion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>We struggle, we fear, we excel, we feel joy and drink in support like a parched camel with a hump drained dry. (Author’s note: I know camels don’t store water in their humps but I liked the comparison.)<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Nope, no more fiction for me. It’s non-fiction all the way to the <span style="font-size: 8pt;">(tiny)</span> bank <span style="font-size: 8pt;">(account).<o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Because I recently retired my column, which ran in eight newspapers, I now must find a place to place my </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">(HUMBLE)</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> brilliance. Workin’ on that. Maybe by Easter this year. Yeh, Easter that’s a great deadline. Did I ever mention that my mother, a lapsed Catholic girl, died on an Easter Sunday? (God’s last laugh.) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span>&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Now that’s a deadline.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-14026097377936709862017-12-21T06:50:00.000-05:002017-12-21T06:54:16.934-05:00Old, new and and on your way<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PKa8LJKsiyQ/WjufpGIQA6I/AAAAAAAACYs/YBGsVgcTXp0GIRmobTjAXfW-ABKw6Nl4gCLcBGAs/s1600/snowflake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="1100" height="134" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PKa8LJKsiyQ/WjufpGIQA6I/AAAAAAAACYs/YBGsVgcTXp0GIRmobTjAXfW-ABKw6Nl4gCLcBGAs/s200/snowflake.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Christmas almost here and a new year just around the corner. A time for reflection and looking forward? Yeah sure.<o:p></o:p><br />When we keep in mind that we can’t change the past and can’t predict the future why do we even examine that which has come before and that which lies ahead.<o:p></o:p><br />Well… that’s what people do this time of year so here’s my take on the old going out and the new coming in.<o:p></o:p><br /><br />Personally big changes took place at my end. Retirement from full-time to part-time at my nine to five and no more column deadline. (Committed to finishing a book.) Life could not be better. Family is everything and wonderful.<o:p></o:p><br /><br />Having said that, let me add this for my writer friends who have never been published and dream to be. As we all know, dreams don’t get us where we want to go, hard work and determination do. Here’s a few suggestions<o:p></o:p><br /><br />Do write with eyes open and mind attuned. <o:p></o:p><br />Don’t get caught up in trends, make your own.<br /><o:p></o:p><br />Do let learning be you’re your pathway.<o:p></o:p><br />Stay true to your core.<br /><o:p></o:p><br />Do follow the bedrock rules. Writer’s arrogance is poison.<o:p></o:p><br />Don’t follow all the rules. Break them wisely.<br /><o:p></o:p><br />Believe.<o:p></o:p><br />Do.<br /><o:p></o:p><br />And, like a toddler, look forward with wonder, get back up after you stumble and take naps. Naps are a writer’s classroom.<o:p></o:p>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-6359784306658852502017-12-11T08:04:00.000-05:002017-12-11T16:20:26.147-05:00Helloooo ho ho happy holidays<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pY6Iw3mc2mU/Wi6BnRQkxyI/AAAAAAAACYc/049Dsg65tvU8uoscTH3rLQf7CsFOl8SuQCLcBGAs/s1600/snow%2Bscene%2Buntitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pY6Iw3mc2mU/Wi6BnRQkxyI/AAAAAAAACYc/049Dsg65tvU8uoscTH3rLQf7CsFOl8SuQCLcBGAs/s1600/snow%2Bscene%2Buntitled.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table>Oh my. So long since I posted a comment.<br />I'm still here, still writing and figuring out my next move. <br />Because I have retired from full-time to part-time at my 9 to 5 and because I have retired my column (it rests but still has a heartbeat), I am immersing&nbsp;myself in family.<br />For well over forty years I have not been able to devote myself to family and the season because of my job. This year is the first year they have come first. It is beyond wonderful that a time clock does not rule the holiday.<br /><br />Next year...who knows what it will bring. Last years horoscope said that THIS year would be one of big changes. It sure was, continues to be and is wonderful.<br />Still querying.<br />Finalizing a new/old project and deciding on next moves.<br />Until then, ho ho, happy New Year and may your holidays be ones filled with what really matters to you.Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-10234509410656632272017-10-28T08:50:00.000-04:002017-10-28T08:50:14.363-04:00The sign of my times<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S-YphwVOIs0/WfR8K4Sun1I/AAAAAAAACWg/VbKLLSo8PRIzN8I6dT8Tn85o0mufWlOHwCLcBGAs/s1600/flower%2Bfield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="319" data-original-width="450" height="141" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S-YphwVOIs0/WfR8K4Sun1I/AAAAAAAACWg/VbKLLSo8PRIzN8I6dT8Tn85o0mufWlOHwCLcBGAs/s200/flower%2Bfield.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />Recently I was driving around with my 3 month old grandson. He was snoozing in his car seat. We do that sometimes on my one day with him. He needs a nap, I need quiet time and a chocolate shake from the drive-up window at McDs. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The car needed gas so I stopped at a station one town over. I got out, inserted my card in the slot, started to pump and looked around. It was a nice afternoon, flowers were still blooming at the farm stand across the street where a few cars pulled in, a couple of cars pulled out. There was a young guy pumping gas next to me. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. And then I saw something which, within a few seconds, shook me to my core, (in a good way).<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p></div>But first,&nbsp;let&nbsp;me back up a bit. <o:p></o:p><br />After celebrating my recent birthday, and for some time leading up to it, I’ve been having a hard time dealing with aging. I don’t like the idea of getting old, and what that means: uncertainty, fear of suffering and dependence. A few years back after experiencing my parents’ switchover from driving cars to waterproof sheets, and eventual death, I saw my future. I didn’t like what I saw. <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The primary ‘not-like’ of what lies ahead: will I live long enough for my grandchildren to remember me? I’m on the old-side of grand-parenting and they are all so young. (Oldest is three) I want them to know how much they mean to me. I want them to remember how much fun I am/was. By the time they start storing memories of me I will be really old and maybe not as limber as I am now. And the stupid part…right now I’m healthy and life is pretty damn good. But I dwell easily on the dark side of the unknown. Not good.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Anyway, I’m standing next to my car, my grandson is napping and while I’m pumping I look up at a sign, high on a pole next to the road, just below the big <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Exxon</i> sign. Nothing fancy about it, typical marketing statement by a big company. Black background with simple white lettering.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“BECAUSE THE BEST MILES ARE STILL AHEAD FOR YOU.”<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It was as if a cool breeze rose from the field of flowers across the street to lighten my heavy heart. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It was an epiphany. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I read the sign out loud. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The guy at the pump next to me gave me one of those looks. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Right then, at that moment, on the spot, the difficulties and angst of the past, I realized are simply that, past. Finding jobs, finding love, a home, having children, raising them, helping them on their way, done. Though relationships with kids are certainly ongoing, like I said, they are done. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">What’s right-now and the future looks pretty good. Don’t worry so much, don’t fret, don’t dwell…<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“BECAUSE THE BEST MILES ARE STILL AHEAD FOR YOU.”<o:p></o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-80025681027362814772017-09-28T09:26:00.001-04:002017-09-28T09:26:06.993-04:00Full speed ahead to an abrupt stop<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K0tUSxtBsHI/WczvzVl2dWI/AAAAAAAACWE/NR9CBumlsLgUqFNgxc-HmNBpuB-SnGzbQCLcBGAs/s1600/screechinghaltires.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K0tUSxtBsHI/WczvzVl2dWI/AAAAAAAACWE/NR9CBumlsLgUqFNgxc-HmNBpuB-SnGzbQCLcBGAs/s200/screechinghaltires.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Hear that sound? <br /><br />It’s screeching wheels on pavement struggling to stop before a collision. That’s me coming dangerously close to a full on crash. My story, my BIG story has me teetering on the edge of lawyer vs. lawyer, time vs. deadline, memory vs. does anybody really care?<o:p></o:p></div><br /><br />Do I use real names?<o:p></o:p><br />Do I speculate without proof?<o:p></o:p><br />Do I expand and interview and back up sources?<o:p></o:p><br />Do I delve?<o:p></o:p><br />And then what? <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Do I throw out a short 2500 words as bait?<o:p></o:p></div>And if I do, where do I cast my line?<br />NYT, Huff Post, The Atlantic, The New Yorker, it certainly is (human interest) and nationally interesting but…I'm not a staff writer.<br />Hartford Courant, The Day, The New Haven Register?<br />Do I stay local?<o:p></o:p><br />Do I stay home?<o:p></o:p><br />Do I keep it here only?<br /><br /><o:p></o:p>How deep do I want to go, do I want to relive it?<o:p></o:p><br />My head is spinning.<o:p></o:p><br />What to do, what to do.<o:p></o:p><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">With what’s going on in the world and in this nation am I so naïve as to believe what happened to us is relevant?<o:p></o:p></div>It's (just) a story. It's (just) about an&nbsp;out of the blue, &nbsp;magical rescue involving a company too big to fail... until it did. It's about the dream&nbsp;we all&nbsp;have when we&nbsp;put a dollar down to buy&nbsp;a lottery ticket.<br />Did our dollar exceed the reward or were we lucky. Luck had everything and nothing to do with it.<br /><o:p></o:p><br />What route should I take and where do I park?<o:p></o:p><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Have you ever stopped your journey before you&nbsp;had&nbsp;a destination?<o:p></o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-9079839438222336912017-09-05T08:28:00.000-04:002017-09-05T08:28:30.233-04:00Next project, a BIG one <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p3MA8i8GbRs/Wa6V4gaMt1I/AAAAAAAACVk/rs78b5AYLwI_B1yPlO8x8cgxcgTtQHVDwCLcBGAs/s1600/it-could-happen-to-you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="490" height="128" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p3MA8i8GbRs/Wa6V4gaMt1I/AAAAAAAACVk/rs78b5AYLwI_B1yPlO8x8cgxcgTtQHVDwCLcBGAs/s200/it-could-happen-to-you.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />I am working on a project which is movie-worthy. <br />It’s big.<br />The&nbsp;scope is daunting. <br />Combine, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It could happen to you </i>and<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Erin Brockovich, </i>a feel good, and going up against the big guy kind of story, and you get the idea.<br /><br />&nbsp;(Interesting that both movies were NOT inspired by books).<br /> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lGktPfWFTgQ/Wa6V8UEOrvI/AAAAAAAACVo/ZhPmfQQgOoQ-9CE557ZViZvQA8eTa4W7QCLcBGAs/s1600/Erin_Brockovich_02127004_A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1120" height="106" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lGktPfWFTgQ/Wa6V8UEOrvI/AAAAAAAACVo/ZhPmfQQgOoQ-9CE557ZViZvQA8eTa4W7QCLcBGAs/s200/Erin_Brockovich_02127004_A.jpg" width="200" /></a>It happened to us and as we faded into the background (for fifteen years) the (worldwide known) big guy came in and rattled cages. I don’t mean to be cryptic but I must because it’s a true story. The toes upon which I trod are attached to pretty big feet. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Every struggling family dreams about stuff like this.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">&nbsp;</div>Yes, it was like winning the lottery but what we had to give up was priceless.<o:p></o:p><br /> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I’m a little scared to take this on but I am determined. Like they say, "everybody has a story", well I do and it's a doozy. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Stay tuned.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Were you ever scared away from a story because it was too big?<o:p></o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-58405625552346805932017-08-10T20:22:00.000-04:002017-08-11T07:39:11.179-04:00Read lines<strong><span style="color: red;">________________________________________________________________________________</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="background-color: red; color: red; font-size: x-small;">______________________________________________________________________________<span style="background-color: red;">_------------------------_</span></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="background-color: white; color: red; font-size: x-small;">________________________________________________________________________</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color: red; font-size: x-small;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="background-color: red; color: red; font-size: x-small;"></span></strong><br />I thought when you submitted a manuscript, agents and publishers cut you some slack regarding editing because you are the writer, not the English teacher. I thought all I had to do was my best and they’d understand. I thought wrong, wrong, wrong. (I meant to repeat those words.)&nbsp;After receiving my manuscript back from a hired-by-me editor, I now know my best sucks. <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When the edited attachment popped up in my inbox, to say I was shocked by all the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">re<span style="color: black;">a</span>d</span></b> lines and notes is an understatement. Feeling stupid and unworthy sums it up. The repeated words, lack of correct punctuation, and sentiments which in my mind were touching, turned out to be unclear left me feeling devastated by my sense of inability.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I wanted to rush in and fix everything even though I didn’t have a clue how the computer editing program worked. And then the enormity of what was ahead had me wanting to set aside the whole damned thing. Why fix it. It’s crap. It’s shit slashed by<span style="color: red;"> <strong>r</strong></span><span style="color: red;"><strong>e<span style="color: black;">a</span>d</strong></span> lines. I was depressed.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I would have shelved the entire book but for two reasons: <o:p></o:p></div>I drained what was left in my writing-account to pay the editor. I saved that money as an investment in myself. I did not want all that effort, all those words from the columns I’ve written, (which paid a pittance), to come to nothing. And then there is the emotional connection. The effort and gumption it takes to open myself up counts for something. My personal kind of writing puts me on display. It ain’t easy but sometimes you just have to say what you have to say.<o:p></o:p><br />I waited.<o:p></o:p><br />I took a deep breath.<o:p></o:p><br />I went slowly back in, one line at a time.<o:p></o:p><br />I found my footing.<o:p></o:p><br />With each word, line, paragraph and page I am learning. <o:p></o:p><br />The process is making me a better writer. <br /><o:p></o:p><br />While implementing the edits I’m finding parts which are building my confidence. Some bring me to my knees because I am so proud of them. The tears I have shed related to a baby lost to miscarriage, my wonderful daughters, my amazing mother, Sandy Hook, and the love and loss of a special canine-companion (these are a&nbsp;few among many) have convinced me to proceed. This process instills in me the absolute honor I feel by creating this thirty-year record of why I write what I write AND why I wrote what I wrote and what happened after. <o:p></o:p><br />Will it sell?<o:p></o:p><br />The articles, columns and essays already have. <o:p></o:p><br />Wrapped in “why” will they sell again?<o:p></o:p><br />?<o:p></o:p><br />I’m sold on finishing. <o:p></o:p><br />I’m on it.<br /><br />I'm sure this post deserves <span style="color: red;"><strong>red</strong></span> lines. Spare me. <br />When was the last time editing stopped&nbsp;one of your&nbsp;projects?Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-59794901612584947762017-08-01T07:34:00.001-04:002017-08-01T17:40:52.217-04:00<br />﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3kggIpjPtFQ/WYBmq8TDN7I/AAAAAAAACTw/oeM2PV5eX9sL5G_TW1ipAEpCNKWM1j3xACLcBGAs/s1600/tiny%2Bhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="462" data-original-width="616" height="238" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3kggIpjPtFQ/WYBmq8TDN7I/AAAAAAAACTw/oeM2PV5eX9sL5G_TW1ipAEpCNKWM1j3xACLcBGAs/s320/tiny%2Bhouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not my house but I could live 'write' there.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">One year ago today my husband and I downsized, half the house, one quarter the land. What we have is still too big, still too much to mow, but perfect considering the size of our family. It’s just the two of us, plus a little wiener of a dog, but when the kids, and their kids show up, what we have suits us fine.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We will eventually have to whittle down the space again. I am hoping, that when that happens, it will be a choice and not a forced quick carving up of what’s placed on our plates, like illness or the death of one of us. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p></o:p>&nbsp;</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In two weeks I am retiring from my 9 to 5, into what is commonly called semi-retirement. I’m still working but less hours. It’s like before and after getting a driver’s license, before and after graduation, marriage, children and their licenses, graduations, marriage and children. One of those life events redefining life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Very exciting.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">All this downsizing, as I ramp up writing, means the house won’t be any cleaner and I won’t be cooking more. Less time on my feet and more time on my ass, (close to fridge), means…well you know what that means. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I will fight to finish my projects and not expand my pants-size.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">What was your last life event? <o:p></o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-82570937880550599492017-07-13T07:55:00.001-04:002017-07-13T07:55:38.810-04:00Dead eye word countI realized this morning how odd it is to not have a deadline. <br /><br />﻿<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7BI-UVqlswU/WWdemhPD4BI/AAAAAAAACTQ/bDJRkebBAS0hz7egX4xtX3Vnm7ocB4p5ACLcBGAs/s1600/a%2Bword%2Bcount.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="223" data-original-width="258" height="172" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7BI-UVqlswU/WWdemhPD4BI/AAAAAAAACTQ/bDJRkebBAS0hz7egX4xtX3Vnm7ocB4p5ACLcBGAs/s200/a%2Bword%2Bcount.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Few words mean much.</td></tr></tbody></table>In my life I have never liked deadlines, never liked anything hanging over my head, weighting down my shoulders, always there and waiting. For now, coming up with a new column, something fresh, something which I consider universal enough to share with readers, is off the table. <br />I will admit:<br />I<br />Am<br />Relieved.<br />To singularly focus on a project, to fine tune the tunable, to&nbsp;dead eye the result,&nbsp;is inspiring.<br />I had to give up something, to get something. Isn't that always the way, especially when we write. <br /><br />So I ask my few faithful friends, what do/did you have to give up in order to make your word count?<br /><br /><br /><br />Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-23661455508416983532017-07-12T08:17:00.002-04:002017-07-12T08:17:58.244-04:00 <a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o8LyA4Gsm2o/WWYSxk62cAI/AAAAAAAACSw/UHkL0GwTgCQ2GRUTgv9YDuar1zCXxLuXACLcBGAs/s1600/bucket%2Bof%2Brocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="126" data-original-width="189" height="133" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o8LyA4Gsm2o/WWYSxk62cAI/AAAAAAAACSw/UHkL0GwTgCQ2GRUTgv9YDuar1zCXxLuXACLcBGAs/s200/bucket%2Bof%2Brocks.jpg" width="200" /></a><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My book came back from the editor.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Looks like a roadmap to the obscure. She said nice things, encouraging things, things which make me feel as if I’m on the right track. <o:p></o:p></div><br /> But my head…a bucket of rocks.<o:p></o:p><br /> <o:p></o:p><br />Lots of stones, pebbles and grains of sand, all sharing the same space and settling for position. <br /> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Yup, hard headed and eager to shift the load. Foundation is built, time to chink the cracks.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p></o:p>&nbsp;</div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-60980489010108533542017-06-26T08:50:00.001-04:002017-06-26T08:50:40.793-04:00 ﻿﻿﻿<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q4PaYKHYPOc/WVEAtKcNu_I/AAAAAAAACRs/AaEigclPAco5IyKSFtpSBAujylkjdb39QCLcBGAs/s1600/dawn%2Bhqdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="150" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q4PaYKHYPOc/WVEAtKcNu_I/AAAAAAAACRs/AaEigclPAco5IyKSFtpSBAujylkjdb39QCLcBGAs/s200/dawn%2Bhqdefault.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is dawn of a new day, not sunset of&nbsp;an old one. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">This story comes in two parts.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Part one:<o:p></o:p></b></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I love sayings because I’m a cliché kind of person. Aren’t sayings and clichés sort of the same thing? Anyway, I particularly like one of the old ones, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fish or cut bait</i>, or my personal profane favorite, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shit or get off the pot</i>. At this stage in my life, I think, (tattooed right next to AARP on my ass should be), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">if not now, when</i>. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Finally, this week, after all the edits and angst,<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">HEAD-SLAPS, SPEED-BUMPS AND LIGHTBULBS, one woman’s WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life ……. is off to a professional copy editor. (Like reconnaissance, the check went first.)<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Once this puppy shines, my plan is to query agents for six months, and if no one wants to pedal a huge chunk of my life, I will get it out there on my own, with a sandwich board and free lollypops. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I am under no illusions. Finding readers, who will put down their hard earned doubloons to read a memoir about non-famous me, will be a challenge. So, during my darkest moments of doubt, I tell myself that the new editor of my column&nbsp;says&nbsp;I have fans.&nbsp; Like I have often spouted, I’m not a big fish in a little pond, I am a minnow in a mud puddle, and that’s okay. So I’m not totally un-famous, just somewhat known, kinda, sorta, maybe. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My op-eds, articles and columns total in the hundreds, in newspapers, magazines, and on line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Fifty-nine, plus the force and fallout of each one, are in this book. If all those pros over the years thought enough of my work to publish and pay, than maybe, just maybe I’m onto something. Can you tell I’m still trying to convince myself? <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Yet, even after pumping up my writer’s ego, I am making a change. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Part two:<o:p></o:p></b></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Though I am told I have fans, big news, two more pieces this summer and I am retiring my column, ENOUGH SAID. It has been a great five year run starting in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Shoreline Times</i> and ending in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Day’s</i>8 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Times’ </i>papers. I want to go from a 600 word-limit to book length. Now I will have the time to do it.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Part Three: Oh, here’s another one.<o:p></o:p></b></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Then, Holy-moly, in August I’m retiring from my 9 to 5. I’ll still be working part-time, (I mean really, how clean does this matron’s house have to be?) That I will be able to write while still in my PJs, rather than just before I have to dash out the door to go to work, is, if not every writer’s dream, than at least this word-monger’s vision of a writer’s life. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Part 4: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></span>Yup another part, the really important one.</b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I have two grandchildren and a third due in a few weeks. Because of my age and because they are all so little it is highly unlikely I will be around to enjoy their young adulthood. That thought plays on my mind as time ticks on. For them, that I existed, that I wrote about my love for their mothers and that I adore them - I want them to know all of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I want them to have a record of what I have said regarding a myriad of every day, serious, controversial and heartbreaking subjects. My words have value, they matter to me and to the people who have communicated with me that something I wrote meant something to them as well.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I hope someday a little part of what I have written will be of interest to my grand-kids too. Or maybe they’ll get a laugh out it.&nbsp;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">That I have stimulated minds and discussions, moved hearts and brought about joy and laughter, is my (bound and on a shelf) monument to being a person with a purpose on this planet. My words are my legacy, from me to them, and to everyone who has read my stuff all the way through to the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The End<o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Not yet.</span><o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-29466879066311873502017-04-18T10:25:00.000-04:002017-04-18T10:26:28.473-04:00Off the burner<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Zk64XXAxops/WPYcsO8K4jI/AAAAAAAACP8/G3WP55EEAtIgIq2Ztvk6LMEoj7yBPA0qwCLcB/s1600/Free-Downloads-Vector-Vintage-Stove-GraphicsFairy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Zk64XXAxops/WPYcsO8K4jI/AAAAAAAACP8/G3WP55EEAtIgIq2Ztvk6LMEoj7yBPA0qwCLcB/s200/Free-Downloads-Vector-Vintage-Stove-GraphicsFairy1.jpg" width="195" /></a><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Posting here seems like a distant memory.</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p></o:p>&nbsp;</div>I'm so busy with my column, and with editing my resurrected project, that I have&nbsp;pushed my lonely little blog, not only on the back burner, but right off the damn stove.<o:p></o:p><br /><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It’s funny how something written so long ago can still be timely and still relevant. That some thoughts are as permanent as eye color, and others as fleeting as changing outfits, surprises me. Conundrum that I am, (steadfast in my beliefs and ever changing), I have grown. I am not afraid to admit how, (at times), off the mark my pen was and not shy about touting the perfectly stated point.</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p></o:p>&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">HEAD-SLAPS, SPEED-BUMPS AND LIGHTBULBS, <o:p></o:p></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">One woman’s WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life. <o:p></o:p></b></div><br /><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Yup, it’s finally, an almost there (updated) book. From the late eighties until now, my published opinions, triumphs, trip-ups and tragedies are a living metaphor for women, writers and other humans. It’s about the force and fallout of why I wrote what I wrote and what happened after, with life smoothing or chipping away at the edges.</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">&nbsp;</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So, who the hell am I?</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I am a minnow in a mud puddle. </div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Why would anyone want to read my memoir/essay/WTF is it book?</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">To overuse a cliché, I am every woman, unless I am not. In which case...</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">See ya on the other side of final edits when the real work begins.<o:p></o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-30620750086700872802017-03-12T17:39:00.000-04:002017-03-12T17:39:29.263-04:00I learn while I drink and drink while I learn<br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2AVKMpv_tws/WMW_XvLWm2I/AAAAAAAACPc/wt3YZmvPFmMrLZypN_1fKsWG7yiLiSNPgCLcB/s1600/mug%2B20170312_131107_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2AVKMpv_tws/WMW_XvLWm2I/AAAAAAAACPc/wt3YZmvPFmMrLZypN_1fKsWG7yiLiSNPgCLcB/s320/mug%2B20170312_131107_resized.jpg" width="192" /></a><br /><o:p>I bought a cup. <o:p></o:p><br /> It’s one of those tall mugs, (caffeine addicts covet), with printing and drawings all over it like the Sunday comics. Largest among the adorable vignettes, the title: <o:p></o:p><br /> ENGLISH GRAMMAR &amp; PUNCTUATION. <o:p></o:p><br /> <br />I love it, not only because it’s clever, it’s super appropriate for me and beyond practical.<o:p></o:p><br /> Have I ever mentioned I flunked English? <o:p></o:p><br /> Yup, I did.<o:p></o:p><br /> </o:p>In high school we had to complete entire notebooks of diagramed sentences. Every day, new ones until I simply zoned out. Actually, that’s about all we did during the second half of sophomore English in Eureka Missouri. It was tedious and boring. <o:p></o:p><br /><br />What I remember. The sentence went on the main line and then we had to draw slanted lines away from key words and label what they were, like, verb, adverb, noun, pronoun and all the rest. I got the nouns and verbs right but once you had to add more lines, which made the sentence look like a stick figure broken&nbsp;ladder, I got terribly lost. I always thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who cares what the words are called, as long as they sound right and get your point across.<o:p></o:p></i><br /><br />We moved a lot, (three high schools), so I had many teachers who loved what I wrote, but when considering analysis, I was a failure. My spelling sucked too but that's&nbsp;another story.<o:p></o:p><br /><br />Anyway, now I have my mug. It tells me everything and gives me examples. <o:p></o:p><br />Problem and observation: be very careful when reading mug-rules. <o:p></o:p><br />Coffee is hot.<o:p></o:p><br /><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p><br />Do you stick to the rules or write what sounds ‘write’?<o:p></o:p>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-63375325600491827862017-02-25T11:13:00.000-05:002017-02-25T11:13:29.489-05:00 <br />﻿﻿﻿<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rhbYY7RtnVI/WLGq9GzlXvI/AAAAAAAACPA/7jbcIzo3rNsR82KlGT7MnLCHFgHJL8I5gCLcB/s1600/old%2Bhomestead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rhbYY7RtnVI/WLGq9GzlXvI/AAAAAAAACPA/7jbcIzo3rNsR82KlGT7MnLCHFgHJL8I5gCLcB/s400/old%2Bhomestead.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old homestead? I don't think so. </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Gotta phone call two weeks ago which I can only call magical. A woman called to say she wanted to buy my house, (my house?), we only moved in six months ago. She said our house was her dream house and that she had put in an offer and lost out because her house did not sell at the time. Well, now her house has sold and she wants mine.<o:p></o:p></div>No way would we move unless financially she made it worthwhile, she did not, because she cannot. <o:p></o:p><br /> BUT<o:p></o:p><br /> The house I would move to, does make it very worthwhile.<o:p></o:p><br /> It’s the old family homestead built by my in-laws almost 70 years ago. My mother-in-law brought her babies home to that house and I brought my babies home to that house after we bought it in ’83.<o:p></o:p><br /> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We sold that house in ’03 because a buyer knocked on our front door and made us an unbelievable deal we could not pass up. (That’s when the magic started.) It’s a long story, I won’t burden my carpal tunnel with it just now, but to move back would be OUR dream come true. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Now, the house is owned by a municipality, and a squatter (their word not mine)&nbsp;has been living there for years without paying rent. We came very, very close to making a deal to buy it but behind the scenes the squatter got a mortgage and closes in a short while. We lost out to a low-life, dead-beat. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">How could tax paying, hardworking, upright citizens lose out to someone like that?<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">That’s the question which drenched every tear I have shed over this. And there have been many. I am heartbroken.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">And then I realized something very important.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">And what does this have to do with writing?<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It is ridiculous that I have let the lowlife manage thoughts regarding my future. It is ludicrous that I allow agents, editors and publishers to flatten my aims when it comes to what I plan my writing future to be. I am in control of nothing from the lowlife guy to the hardworking folks in traditional publishing and yet I let them rule my feelings and thoughts as related to what happens tomorrow. What tomorrow?<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It is foolish.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It will stop.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Do I want to move back to a house filled with family memories? <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Do I want to live in a home perfectly suited for an aging couple?<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Yes and yes.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Do I want to be traditionally published?<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Do I want to be able to write full time?<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Yes and yes again.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">BUT<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">All I have is now, with thoughts of a tomorrow which promises me nothing.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Right now, my current house, which is pretty nice and someone else’s dream house, is mine. Sorry caller.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I’ve been published hundreds of times and that’s pretty good. <o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I’m going with what I’ve got this very minute, and that’s a hell of a cold, a warm house and a paid writing gig for a newspaper.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Life is good and I am grateful.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Who rules thoughts of YOUR future?<o:p></o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6904356705735120070.post-4997181776058548962017-01-27T08:40:00.000-05:002017-01-27T08:40:14.703-05:00Angst in a file <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--nsg8icy5zg/WItNEPTg1nI/AAAAAAAACOc/uXeFAOm8x4gkrixzRoaJAC4fKCsX_XW7gCLcB/s1600/118_2547794.jpg%2Bfolder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--nsg8icy5zg/WItNEPTg1nI/AAAAAAAACOc/uXeFAOm8x4gkrixzRoaJAC4fKCsX_XW7gCLcB/s200/118_2547794.jpg%2Bfolder.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Years ago, at a particularly tough time, with finances off the rail and the demands of family over the top, I wrote a short story, which became a 82,000 word book, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>about a women who disappeared, (willingly), while leaving no clues behind as to where she went. I actually figured out a way to head out of Dodge and make a new life, leaving my adored children and once in a lifetime husband behind.<o:p></o:p></div><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Writing the story was great therapy; I was able to go without going. It was like writing a scathing letter to your mother-in-law and then tearing it up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>The story was pretty good and the emotional dump was soulfully needed but I never did anything with it. It’s buried somewhere in my computer. The book however, neatly tucked into its manila folder, haunts me from the bottom shelf of a bookcase. It reminds me of how despair can cook a novel that once seemed tasty but has gone rancid over time.<o:p></o:p></div><br />My point is that, over the course of this thing I call writing, as a response to life’s travails, I’ve murdered my husband, sold out my parents, burned down a co-workers house and abandoned my children. Those stories were never saved anywhere. I live happily ever after at home with a husband of many, MANY, years and with children, on their own, but close to the nest. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I am privileged and in a very good place. I wonder if writing happy stories makes you happier.<br /> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Do you write your angst away?<o:p></o:p></div>Carolynnwith2Nshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.com4